Pattern Of Love
by Lazarus76
Summary: One shot. Eames/Arthur. Love sometimes is not enough.


Disclaimer:** Inception does not belong to me. **

Arthur sighed as he turned over, his arm lightly grazing across Eames' back. As he moved, he realised the other man was stirring, and begin to stretch. Arthur turned his head, smiling. The early morning light was throwing its pale, lemony rays across the room, catching the dust mites, touching on the bed. Eames began to speak. "Morning."

"Hey." Arthur leaned over, and kissed his shoulder. "Morning to you too."

"Indeed." Eames pulled him closer. "You're irresistible."

"Why, thank you Eames."

"And you have amazing legs," the Forger murmured, his hand moving down into the bed. Arthur smiled as he felt the long fingers brush against his thigh. "Oh, you mean lanky and gawky," The Point Man jibed gently. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Only when I thought you didn't like me." Eames grinned. "Got under your skin, didn't it?"

"Oh, it did. And-" Arthur broke off. Eames' fingers had left his thigh and were tracing gently up his chest.

"I need to feed you up, Arthur. You've lost weight."

"Oh, really?" Arthur retorted. "What about you?" He frowned, suddenly realising the mood in the room was dissipating, dissolving into the tense ill feeling that had been characterising their relationship lately. Too much so. He propped himself up on one elbow, squinting as strands of hair fell over his eyes.

"What about me?" Eames shrugged. "Been toning up. That's all."

"Toning up? More like shrinking." Arthur flopped back down onto his back, steadfastly looking at the ceiling. Eames was silent, then turned over, beginning to skip his fingers lightly over Arthur's chest.

"Stop it," Arthur muttered.

"Stop what?" Eames asked, innocently.

"Ignoring my comment." Arthur shook his head. "I never see you eat anymore. We used to go out for dinner, used to-"

"Yes, and only one of us is blessed with a metabolism that would embarrass a hummingbird." Eames' voice cut through Arthur's, silencing him. "What did you once say? That you could eat fried food, nothing happened, and someone else would be taking the hit for you?"

Arthur winced. "Yes, I know. But that wasn't meant as a slur on you."

"Well, let's face it. If I try and keep up with you, I'm either going to end up weighing 20 stone or with diabetes." Eames shrugged. "Better not to try."

"Its better if you eat!" Arthur snapped, the volume of his voice shocking him. He began to sit up, resentment competing with his anger. Eames was still lying on his back, calmly oblivious to the torrent of emotions the Point Man was battling.

"Yes, well..." Eames' voice trailed off. Arthur looked at him, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, well, what?"

"I just don't want everyone wondering why you're with me." The Forger's voice was soft, almost inaudible. "I don't want everyone thinking-"

"Shut up Eames," Arthur snapped, beginning to lie down again and turn over. "We've been through this. I'm with you, because I want to be." His legs twitched, and he threw back the covers. "Coffee." He spoke decisively, and made to move out of bed, shrugging off the covers. "You want?"

"Please."

"Milk?"

"Er...no. Black."

"Oh, of course. Because milk will add all of what, two calories?!" Arthur grabbed his bathrobe, shrugging into it. He tied the belt round his narrow waist and walked to the door, ignoring Eames. As he opened the door, exited, and closed it, his anger passed, leaving him shaking. He leaned his head against the door, trying to choke back a sob.

The first date had been in a restaurant. Pasta, salmon, cream...wine...more wine...and scotch. Finally, they'd ended up back at Arthur's apartment. A quick look exchanged before they entered had brought it home to both that neither were interested in coffee. Eames had leaned in, kissing Arthur's neck. Suddenly, Arthur's arms had snaked upwards, tugging at the Forger's shirt. Stumbling towards the bedroom, they'd fallen onto the bed, Arthur lying on his back. Eames had shifted, leaning down to his neck.

"Hey," Arthur whispered. "Want to shift?"

"Hmmm?"

"Eames, want to shift over?"

The Forger looked at him, and blinked. "Oh, I get it." He began to move off the Point Man, the atmosphere broken. "I'm just a great lump."

"Eames!" Arthur looked at him, shocked. "I didn't mean it like that - your knee was in my abdomen!"

"Oh!" Eames blinked, visibly surprised. "Arthur - I-"

"Jesus, Eames, how could you think I think that?" Arthur was rubbing his forehead, unsure of what to say, or what to do. "I do not think you're a great lump...just be careful where you put your elbows!"

Eames was subdued by this, and Arthur lay back down on the bed, outstretching an arm. The Forger crawled into it, closing his eyes.

Arthur shook his head, and began to wander down the hallway, heading for the kitchen. Memories, unpleasant ones, were struggling up through his conscious, nibbling on his nervous system like hungry, vengeful fish. Sitting in the warehouse, watching Eames try to ignore food. Hearing him sigh in exasperation as he examined himself in the mirror. Trying to push Arthur off him if he felt the Point Man's hands were wandering on to rolls of imagined flesh. And the pattern on the bathroom floor. Streaks of expunged food, a habit that Eames could not hide. Arthur shuddered as he entered the kitchen. Being with Eames was being with two people. Or one - with an especially unpleasant parasite hanging to him.

Arthur rested his elbows on the sink, staring into its clean surface. The patterns on the floor were one thing Eames could not hide. And one day, Arthur thought, bitterly, he'd just rub his face in it.

**All readers an d reviews appreciated, thank you! **


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